


Broken dreams and burnt offerings

by Mercykiller



Category: LARP - Fandom, original character - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 18:32:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16816135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercykiller/pseuds/Mercykiller
Summary: Links directly to this short. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15523368





	Broken dreams and burnt offerings

The sun was sinking past the edge of the plateau, painting the sky with smears of deep oranges and yellows as the blanket of indigo speckled with starlight crept across the sky. Crickets sung their farewells to the light incessantly, a constant shrill drone that mixed with the chatter of camp life.  
Smoke filled the air, carrying with it the smells of roasting meats, strong dark beer and pipe weed, the reaping of the summer had been plentiful especially after the famine that had plagued Elysium in the previous year that had made almost everyone to flee the island just to survive, the clan were celebrating the end of the season and were no doubt going to get very drunk.  
Dura however wasn’t in the mood for these festivities, an anxious energy had been creeping over her the closer the days crept towards the Winter solstice, a drink would hardly settle it and she had no desire to join in even with Mulag insisting that it would do her good.  
The days were shortening, the darkness came quicker each day that turned, for some reason that set her on edge, her dreams were erratic and often clouded whenever she got them, faces and voices bombarded her with chattering that blurred into white noise, leaving her to wake up in a cold sweat every morning. The one she had had last night had been particularly vivid, the images so real she could have reached out to touch the figures in front of her and not been able to discern them from reality.  
“The boundaries between worlds is weak. Spirits and souls are pushing to be heard.” Was all she got from the Farseer Grukaak when she asked what they might mean, he looked just as tired as Dura felt, no doubt feeling the strain of the event more keenly than herself.  
“But why me?” She had pushed and simply was met with a shrug from the old orc, so she left, frustration building with the at unanswered questions and lack of sleep.  
With a low growl constantly rumbling in her chest Dura made her way through the vast sea of tents to her own, weaving through clusters of orcs that stood around fires telling stories of the days hunt, the scouting missions that had taken them deeper into the land that had risen from the sea just months ago, there was so much to explore and allies to seek out now they had returned to the island. She waved some of the younglings out of her path as they tried to play, one called out to her to join in as she went past but the invitation went ignored and they simply accepted the denmother was busy and continued with their game. Most of younglings had been too old to be placed back into a birthing pool once the clan had found a suitable location, so the camp and Dura had assumed their care.  
A snarl snapped from her lips as a pikelet stumbled into her, the reeked of alcohol hung around it and its eyes were glazed as it looked up at her, a cheeky smirk spread across its face that Dura did not enjoy the look of. However, fear slowly crossed its face when it dawned on them who it had run into, the smile vanished and it immediately dropped its gaze, offering up the flask of alcohol it had likely stolen from one of the unattended tents. Dura snatched it and kicked the pikelet out of her way, relishing the little yelp of pain from the impact as it hit the dirt, if it were any other night or anyone higher than her in the ranks it probably would have been killed and fed to its own.  
Dura sniffed the booze and wrinkled her nose, from its overpowering reek it was definitely the handy work of Mulag or Ja’grov, a strong concoction that would see any hard-drinking orc flat on his face before the they finished the cup. She stoppered the flask, looped the strap around her belt and kept walking.  
Ducking under the hides that covered the entrance of her tent she began looking through the tent for her bow and quiver, if she couldn’t settle, she would walk until she was exhausted, the lands outside the barrier however were rife with dangers and it would be stupid to go without being armed. She found the bow hanging above the rest of her weapons, just where it should be but the space where her quiver and arrows hung was empty.  
Her lip curled in frustration and she looked around the tent. The floor was covered in the thick furred pelts of the animals she’d hunted, killed, and skinned. A few patchwork blankets had been shoved aside from where she had been sleeping the previous night. Her armour was piled up near the front of the tent, along with her battered shield and sword. The trophies she’d won from her hunts and raids were hung about the tent walls along with the various personal possessions she had brought with her from her previous life.  
No one should have entered her tent to take her equipment, she wondered briefly if it could have been one of the younglings playing a prank, but they had learned quickly that you don’t take another orcs belongings unless you wanted to receive a solid beating or even lose a finger for the troubles.  
As she moved through the tent her boot crunched on something under the furs, lifting a corner she saw the edge of a tusk, flicking back the fur all the way she found the remains of a necklace, its cording had been snapped and the beads were partially scattered as they had come off. The tusk had snapped in half from her tread but the other smaller ones were still intact. Her face knotted in a frown as she tried to remember when she had even made such a token. Scooping up the necklace and the scattered beads she stuffed them into the pouch that hung from her belt and tugged the fur back into place.  
As she stood up, she spotted the glint of arrowheads poking out from under a tunic, probably left behind by either Mulag or Dirge, both of whom had spent the night in her tent. Rolling her eyes at herself for jumping to conclusions she tossed the tunic aside, and swung the quiver across her back, picking up her bow as she walked out of her tent.

Night had properly fallen by the time she had walked to the outskirts of camp, it was populated mostly by the slaves and the pikelets who all scattered as she walked past. The lucky ones would be rounded up to be thrown into the front line of the battles the next time Ironclaw went on a raid. Whether or not any of them survived the battles was up to their own skills, wit, and following orders, some even scavenged armour for themselves along the way. The rest were left to serve to the orcs of the camp, for entertainment, hard labour, or sometimes food.  
When she reached the camps edge she stepped across the boundary line which marked the end of the barrier, it was marked out by the blueish purple crystals that were set every dozen or so metres in the ground, all of them emitting a dull pulsing glow, like a slow heartbeat. Each one was surrounded by the sigils of the farseers magics, and the earth smelled like fresh rain with the hint of ozone that came with heavy thunderstorms.  
The makeshift lift to the land below was a couple hundred of metres ahead of her. The device was engineered by the blacksmiths so the clan could avoid the long, steep climb up and down the plateau, it too was ringed with the crystals. The slaves chained to the winch wheel shuffled to their feet as they spotted her walking towards them and made ready to push the wheel to slowly lower the lift down the cliffside, their overseer sat to one side with his feet propped up on a wooden stump, a hand resting lazily on the whip looped on his belt, almost daring one of the slaves to step out of line.  
Stepping onto the platform she unhooked the chain that secured it, tossing it onto the dirt and stood back, one hand on the railing next to her as the lift platform started to rock gently in the breeze, the rumble of the gears grinding together started as soon as she waved her signal and the lift slowly started lowering down the side of the plateau, soon she either could look at the rocky cliff face or the plains below, but instead she sat in the middle of the platform and closed her eyes until she felt the gently thump of the floor touching the solid ground.

The platform began to rise as she stepped off, now Dura stood in the deep silence broken only by the calls of the night animals and insects, with the sparse forest that surrounded the base of the plateau in front of her.  
Just to the side of the landing was a hastily constructed arena, the walls made from haphazardly placed logs with their ends hacked into points, rope and stretches of fabric covered the gaps between them, the ground around it was a mess of deep holes that had been dug to draw the clay warriors to the surface, creatures that rose from the earth resembling the fauna of the land or even the people that now lived here, it was hard to determine the real from the fake until you hit it, unless of course you specifically elicited a reaction from them, which is what the holes did. Orcs that travelled to Elysium were thrown in the fighting pit to prove themselves and earn their place in the lower ranks of Ironclaw, when the younglings matured enough, they too would have to pass the tests to earn their place.  
It reeked of old blood and rotted flesh, when the fights were finished sometimes the carrion flies were as thick as clouds as they swarmed the fresh corpses before the rest of the clan could properly dispose of them. Dura stifled a cough as a particularly pungent scent wafted in with the breeze and stuck to the back of her throat, covering her nose with her hand she walked into the inky depths of the forest where the light of the moon couldn’t reach.  
There wasn’t much of a plan in her head other than to wander the forest, the pace she set for herself was steady but careful, she could hear the trees creak as they swayed in the wind, the night creatures moving about the branches and the forest floor, insects chirping, calling to one another in the dark. It was peaceful in its own way and Dura could feel herself slowly relaxing the further she walked.  
She was not carrying a lit torch or lantern with her as it would draw to much attention that she actively wanted to avoid, instead relying on her other senses and the moon light that made it through the treetops. One hand loosely gripped her bow, fingers tapping out a steady rhythm on the leather wrapped grip, the other hand twisting the soft feathers that were attached to one of her necklaces, each a comforting yet unconscious action.  
Her thoughts were caught up in her most recent dream, it had felt so real to her and she still was processing what she had seen even if most of it was a fuzzy faded memory at this point. The land she had found herself in felt so different, it was definitely orc territory but of a tribe or clan that was wildly different from any she had encountered before, totems and flags were assembled to terrorise and instil fear in the ones who might wander where they did not belong. The faces of orcs were marred with intense scarring, self-mutilation, their markings and tattoos were jagged and rough. But why had it felt real? None of the figures in the dream had reacted to her presence.  
No, that wasn’t right, one of them had seen her, right before she woke up. She’d said something as well, but no matter how she tried to remember she just couldn’t make the word appear in her mind, all she knew was that it wasn’t something malicious. The one who had seen her had grabbed at something as well, and it was that action which had woken her up.  
Her brows furrowed as she let go of her own necklace and dug through the pouch on her belt, pulling out the broken necklace she’d collected from her tent. She found a patch of moonlight and examined it closely this time, turning it this way and that, the beads and talons that it was strung with were definitely ones that she had made and gathered, some were strung on her own necklaces that she currently wore, but she could not recall when she had assembled such an item.  
Something close by moved through the scrub, a stick breaking under tread, a bush being push out of the way, something large moving through the forest, the noise snapping Dura out of her thoughts and making her shove the necklace back into her pouch so she could bring her bow up to load an arrow into the string as she backed up out of the moonlight.  
Crouching down behind some bushes she listened carefully to the surroundings, waiting to see if this unknown intruder was coming towards her. Minutes passed and nothing, but she could still hear whatever it was moving around, slowly making its way towards her.  
It appeared almost suddenly, emerging from the trees just in front of her, right into the patch of moonlight she had occupied a few minutes earlier. Humanoid in shape and size, it wore armour and clothing of one of the warbands that also resided on Elysium, but they carried no weapons, nor did they smell of anything, which was immediately suspicious. Humans always smelled of sweat, of the places they lived, food they’d eaten, and the others they’d been with. This one was void of those scents, instead it just smelled like the forest around it.  
Dura shrunk further into the shadows hoping it would walk past her, that it’s attention would be drawn elsewhere, that luck was on her side and she would not have to fight it by herself. A clay warrior was always something that was unpredictable, they could take the shape of anything, or anyone in this case, and their strength was just as unpredictable, they could be as strong as an average fighter or come down with the strength of ten. The only time Ironclaw ever fought one these creatures by themselves was in the arena, the rest of the time they were avoided in a solo fight unless absolutely necessary.  
It stood completely motionless, it didn’t breathe, no rise and fall of its chest, not even the hair on its head moved when the breeze came wafting through the trees. Dura held her breath and slowly shifted back, moving her feet along the ground slowly, gradually backing up away from the clay creature. Her heel softly bumped into a raised root forcing her to shift her steps higher so she could keep moving. When she put her foot back down, it was with toes first, testing before putting her full weight onto it.  
Continuing backwards until the clay creature was out of view before she risked turning around to make a faster escape, but she was only a few paces away when in her hurry she mis-stepped, cracking a branch under her foot.  
“Fuck.” Dura swore under her breath as she kept moving, hoping that the sound hadn’t carried and alerted the creature of her position.  
It had.  
The ground shifted underneath her, it heaved and a bump formed, like an ant hill being created before her eyes. Dura scrambled back quickly, turning and running in the other direction of the shifting ground as it quickly rose higher and higher. For those that dared to observe the transformation they would see earth solidifying, morphing into a more defined shape, details being revealed as the soil shifted around, some falling away to create the cavities where eyes would sit or cracks forming for a mouth, and limbs until what stood there was a dirt coloured replica. Pigments were the last to appear on its form, blooming on the surface like a flower opening in the light of the sun, then spreading out until every surface was covered.  
All of this happened as the creature moved after Dura as soon as it has assembled legs for itself, its strides faster than a normal human as it used its powers to propel itself forward to quickly catch up with her.  
Looking over her shoulder she snarled at how close it was already, it was catching up incredibly quickly, the gods sure liked to play their cruel games and throw obstacles in her way, her bad luck seemed to rear its head at the worst times, walking into the area of an active warrior was not what she had wanted or needed in her night.  
Pivoting quickly, she hastily drew back and loosed the arrow notched to her bow, knowing it would do her little good, let alone slow it down but it still made her feel better. The arrow went wide, embedding into a tree rather than her intended target. Dura cursed, and kept running. Her only hope at this point was to hope it lost interest in her, the chances of fighting it off without knowing where its weakness lay was incredibly slim.  
Every clay warrior held a heart made from the same crystals that the warbands coveted, but these ones held a different power that allowed the clay warriors to grow. If you separated the heart from the earth that formed the being, it would disintegrate and as long as the crystal remained out of contact of earth it would not reform. Shattering the crystal was a way of permanently killing it but it was incredibly difficult, and not something that anyone had time to do when trying to fight them off, especially when they moved in packs. The problem always was trying to locate the crystal as it could lie anywhere within the form.  
It was a within arm’s reach of her when she tripped, falling forwards she threw her arms out to abate the fall, turning it into a roll and scrambled to get back on her feet. However, it was too late for her as the clay warrior caught up with her, lunging towards her. Dirt and earth came crashing at her as the creature threw itself at her, forcing her to tumble out of the way, pulling her bow in tightly against her bow so she wouldn’t lose it, she could hear the rattle of her arrows in the quiver and hoped she wouldn’t lose any in this fight. She couldn’t outrun it now even if she tried, so she rounded on it as the next attack came, gripping her bow with both hands she swung at the outreaching hand that came flying towards her, if it were a normal foe she would have knocked the blow away and given herself an opening to strike back, but this just nudged it aside enough for it to miss her throat. She kicked out with her legs but they just sunk ankle deep into the legs and crotch of her attacker as if it was made of sloppy mud, she tried to pull her legs free only for them to stick fast. Not only that but also to slowly be sucked further into its form pulling her slowly towards it. With a grunt she swung her bow again, aiming for its head as it leant back for another strike. She thanked the gods this one was a little slow with its attacks, giving her just enough time to carry through with her blow, it connected with a wet smack. The strike should have sent an adversary’s head snapping back and left them disorientated. Instead its head just smeared, stretching and distorting with the passage of the bow, the head reshaping almost as soon as the end had passed through.  
Its hand stretched and wrenched the bow from her grip, throwing it out of her reach, it was learning from each of her attacks. Perhaps the gods hadn’t been as cruel as she had feared, its behaviour was like it had never encountered something that fought back, she wouldn’t let this advantage slip through her grasp.  
Ironclaw had beaten back its fair share of them and from those fights she knew the crystal hearts were always in the centre of mass for the new ones, before they had learned that hiding them elsewhere made it harder for them to be defeated. Stuck with her back on the ground and her legs trapped Dura reached down and pulled free the small daggers in the harness on her chest armour, pulling herself up so she was in curled in close to its chest, and plunged both deep into its centre of mass, wrenching them both to side and scooped out a chunk of its ‘flesh’. No bones were there to resist the action so she repeated it, as her knees slowly vanished into the lower half of the creature. Managing another of the digging actions before the clay warrior enveloped one of her hands with its own, she kept going with the dagger she had left, her actions becoming more and more frantic, eventually dropping the dagger and using her clawed fingers instead to rip chunks of earth from its form faster.  
There!  
A blue pulse, a glint of something reflective in its chest, the warrior pulled upwards with her trapped arm as she reached out to sink her fingers around the heart, jerking her away from it, she was so close, but not close enough.  
It was centimetres from her fingertips and earth was filling in the ‘wound’, with a curse Dura lashed out and clawed at its arm that held her, scraping away its grip, forcing it to drop her. With her legs stuck she didn’t fall to the ground completely, heaving herself up she plunged her hand into its chest just as earth closed over the heart, pushing with all her strength until she felt the cold static of the crystal touch her skin, closing her fingers around it and pulled.  
There was considerable resistance but she was determined, with a snarl and a last ditch heave she ripped it clear of the chest. As soon as the crystal was free the form of the clay warrior disintegrated into a pile of inert earth and she fell to the ground with it.  
Scrambling backwards with the crystal clutched in her fist she pushed herself up and ran further into the forest, snatching up her bow and slinging it over her shoulder on the way through.  
The forest started blending with the rocky landscape of the dead mountain to the south east of the plateau, thinning the trees to small spindly saplings and low growing spiny bushes, large rocky outcrops emerged from the short browning grass that clung to the evolving landscape, gravel rather than soft earth now crunching under her to her boots as she jogged along looking for a safe place to rest. Dura picked out a spot with a large formation of solid boulders that created an overhang, approachable only from a rather exposed front that was clear of larger trees which might obscure any unwanted guests, not perfect but a good enough spot to rest for a while before she headed back to Kathotar Soli.  
She shoved the crystal into a pocket and began collecting an armful of tinder and branches to build a small fire to keep herself warm, piling it all into a dip in the bed rock she used a small piece of flint and her knife to bring it to life, sitting with her back to the boulders once the dry wood had taken hold, slipping the bow and quiver from her back she set them down next to her along with the dagger that she’d used to start the fire. She would check over the rest of her kit when she was safely back at the main camp, knowing that she’d have to replace a couple of the smaller throwing knives she’d lost during her fight.  
Looking down at her legs that were covered in mud, slowly drying in the evening air, turning pale and cracking when the fabric moved but refusing to fall free, with a disgruntled face she scraped the largest of it off and flicked it away from her. Not the worst thing that she had splattered on her clothes once she thought about it, over the years of wading through battles and then rearing 2 younglings of her own.  
Licking her dry lips, she pulled the flask from her belt, and quickly swallowed several mouthfuls before the burn of the alcohol hit her, hissing as any flavour that it might have had was over ridden by the death of her tastebuds. It did the job of warming her belly and helping her come down off the adrenaline rush from the fight and the long run from it, feeling her body almost immediately start to relax, with only the crackle of the fire and the soft chirp of crickets she looked up and watched the night sky slowly turn.  
The land was dark.  
A monstrous black mountain that belches fire and smoke.  
Forest littered with decay and ash.  
Totems strung with bones, pelts, and marked with blood.  
A face, riddled with scarification and ritual piercings, matted sideburns decorated with beads, framed by a shaggy fur cloak. It snarled.  
The necklace broke.  
Dura gasped, lurching forward from her seated position, hands automatically reaching for the weapons at her side, eyes searching the landscape in front of her.  
When had she fallen asleep?  
How much time had passed?  
She flicked her gaze at the fire, it was still burning, flames flicking small embers into the night sky it hadn’t been long enough for the flames to die down, so she hadn’t drifted off for long, maybe five minutes if she had to make a guess. Throwing the last of the branches she’d collected across the fire she sat back again, rubbing the bridge of her nose, slowly dragging her fingers down her face with a sigh. The tired ache of exhaustion pulled at her core, every joint in her body cried out for her to sleep, to get some proper rest even though her mind wouldn’t let her.  
Those images from her dream worried her, she could see them perfectly now when they had eluded her before when she had tried to focus on them. Was it the gods trying to tell her something? Was it spirits just tormenting her because the veil between realms was thin? Side effects from the booze and whatever it had been spiked with?  
“Wait, the necklace.” Dura whispered to herself and pulled it out from the pouch along with all the loose beads that has fallen off the sting and laid them out in front of her. This was the necklace in the dream, it still confused her that she didn’t remember making it and that it was under all those furs in her tent without her noticing as she slept, perhaps one of the younglings had made it from her supply and left it behind.  
The fire flared with a sizzle as a pocket of sap boiled and burst.  
Watching as it as it boiled away to a black smear of charcoal, she put together a plan to do something about the dream, vision, whatever it was. She would play along with the gods game for now.

There was a small ritual she had learned from her mother, who had served the shaman of her old tribe, one that was only used sparingly to send messages to others through the fires. It was tricky because it relied on that orc also having a fire lit at the same time, and her being able to perfectly picture the recipients face, if they even existed in the first place.  
Dura frowned at the other flaws in her idea, she held no gift like those who followed the path of shamans, she couldn’t conjure magics or speak with spirits, she was devoid of such abilities, she had to figure out how she going to perform this ritual without a shaman like Mulag or Grukaak around?  
Shifting her position, she felt the lump of the crystal shift in her pocket to press into her thigh, fishing it out she held it up to the moonlight, turning it this way and that, watching the blueish purple hue slowly pulse with a faint light at its core. This would do the job for sure, crystals gave power to the those who held them, the exact way they did so was still a mystery but she could make it work somehow, but along with the increase of energy that always came with the solstice perhaps even she could pull this off.  
Shoving the crystal back in her pocket she set to work fixing the broken necklace. Slipping the remaining beads from the flimsy broken twine and completely restrung it with a stronger piece of cording from her belt, wrapping the old string around the larger broken tusk, so it to could be added to the necklace.  
Once it was done she coiled it in front of her, then hooked a finger under one of her own necklaces and tore it free, using her teeth to tear one of the two tusks that hung from it free, she laid it next to the necklace and shoved the other into her pouch.  
It was the tusk of the harpy, a trophy she had taken from a creature that had given her one of the hardest and most testing hunts in a very long time. The one she had killed had only four of the trophies and she had gifted two of them to a couple of orcs who she considered close companions, they had discovered that they would begin to glow if they were exposed to daylight. Dura wanted to include it as a peace offering, something like this was rare to come by and perhaps would peak the recipients interest.  
Pulling off her leather chest armour she cut a section of fabric from her shirt, laying it out on the rock she scooped some of the white ash out of the fires edge and mixed it with a portion the alcohol to create a rudimentary paint, with her finger she scrawled a note in rough black speech. On the back she drew out the clan symbol, it would identify the warband if the gods ever saw fit to put both her and the other orc in the same spot.  
Folding up the necklace, tusk, and finally the crystal heart in the cloth she roughly bound it all together with a remnant of string with some of the beads that had been left over. Lastly she took up her knife again, held her opposite hand over the bundle and sliced into her edge of her palm, clenching her hand into a fist she let the blood ooze and drip onto the knot that secured the whole thing, all the while closing her eyes and focusing on the face of the orc she had seen, sealed by blood only the intended could open it even if another found it. With the image of the orc still in her mind she picked up the bundle and thrust it into the fire, holding it out until the fabric began to smoulder and catch fire before letting it go with a snarl, wrenching her hand out of the flames as her skin started to burn. She opened her eyes and watched the fabric burned fiercely amongst the coals, it should have done something by now, it wasn’t working. Dura groaned, her dreams really had been just that, dreams. A message couldn’t be sent to someone who didn’t exist, even with the power of a crystal heart.  
Suddenly there was a sharp pop and a sizzle, accompanied by the tingle of static in the air like a lightning storm with no rain, snapping her attention back to the fire just to watch her work turn to ash. But instead of slowly burning like it should have, and with tones of oranges and yellows, it had turned blue, hues of purple dancing through it and the fire burst, burning high and incredibly hot, forcing Dura to shuffle back to escape the heat. Then as quickly as it had grown, it died out leaving behind only glowing red coals and ash.  
Dura leant back against the boulders at her pack and rested her head in her hands, elbows propped up on her crossed legs to watch the coals left behind slowly pulse like a fluttering heart beat each time a breeze came through. She would never know if the orc would actually receive the small gift, all she knew is that the ritual had worked, maybe not in the way she had hoped nor how she’d seen it done by the shaman of her old tribe but something had happened and now all she hoped was that she could rest for a while before trekking back to her home.  
As the sun shed its thin first light over the horizon Dura left her small temporary shelter and began her journey back to the plateau, deciding to take a longer route through the forest so she could bring back some game for the clans’ supplies, no doubt they had probably broken into the winter stores to sate the hunger that came with festivities.  
She had managed to snatch a couple hours sleep once the fire had gone out completely, staying in her seated position and just letting her body relax enough that even the hard stone felt comfortable. Even though she woke with a stiff neck and sore back she felt more refreshed than she had in days. She silently thanked Dretha, her pledged goddess, for letting her rest even for a moment and promised to make an offering as soon as she got back.  
Arriving back at Kathotar Soli close to the evening, the sun was lowering in the sky when she passed through the front gates with a causal nod of her head to the guards posted there, who were casually sitting to one side watching the camp and the land around it. Tied to the strap of her quiver was a string of rabbits, along with a couple birds she’d managed to flush from the bushes, she wove through the tents up to one of the larger cooking fires, taking a place at one of the bloody benches that were placed around it and set about skinning and gutting the animals quietly humming a tuneless melody to herself.  
Passing off the fur to another orc who would see them cleaned and preserved to be sewn into various things later on, the younglings collected up the feathers and put them into bags for fletching. Most of the meat would be smoked and stored for rations when they went on scouting missions, the rest was chopped up and thrown into one of the vast pots that was on the edges of the fire, a thick stew bubbling away that would feed this part of the camp.  
Walking back to her tent once she had finished up her work, cleaning her hands and knife of blood and guts on a scrap of fabric that she tossed into another fire on her way through the camp.  
Kicking off her boots at the entrance, ducking through the tent flaps and stripped off her kit, tossing it into the corner of the tent before flopping onto the pile of fur, pulling one of the patchwork blankets over her head and let out a long slow breath, and closed her eyes. 

\-------------------------------------------------

In a distant land far away from the strange enchanted shores of Elysium, where the days were short and snow fell even in spring, a fire deep in the territory of orcish land flared pale blue and went out, its minder was sleeping not far from it wrapped in a dark matted fur that had maybe been white originally, he would not notice the small singed fabric wrapped bundle until he attempted to start the fire anew when he woke to a chilly morning. The crystal within drained of colour now that it was beyond the reach of Elysium’s border and sapped of all its power from the spell that had brought it to this distant land, becoming nothing more than a piece of clear mineral that resembled a quartz.  
The wind picked up through the undergrowth, bringing with it the whisper of the trees, stirring the figure only to make it pull the cloak tighter around itself. An image passed through its sleeping mind of a warm place far away and an orc with dreadlocked red hair, despite the heat coming from the land it wore a thick fur cloak, it whispered a single word that was torn away by the wind before the image faded.


End file.
